Geri Krotow - Secret Agent Under Fire

“You made your scarf?” He wasn’t any kind of expert but the lacy thing didn’t look like anything handmade he’d ever seen before.

She nodded. “And this jacket, actually. It’s boiled wool. Felted. Meaning I knitted it about ten sizes too big and then shrunk it in a huge soup pot on my stove. Hot water felts untreated wool.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No, I wish I were. I’m a fiber nerd with a law-enforcement hobby.”

“And your favorite color is red?”

“Bingo.” She picked the menu back up. “Maybe I’ll save the French toast for next time. I can’t decide between the gluten-free cherry crepes or the hearty hot cereal.”

“Go for the gusto. Their cherry crepes are renowned.”

“So you’ve had them?”

He laughed. “I’m a Silver Valley native and Cumberland Café has been here as long as I remember. My family used to come in here regularly once we settled in the area, when I was still in middle school. So, yes, between family meals and high school dates, I’ve had just about everything on the menu at least a time or two.”

“Only high school dates? Where do people go on adult dates here?” Her expression of sincere curiosity made him smile.

“Oh, we like to go four-wheeling while doing some chew, spitting it out on the way to the firing range.”

“I’m not one of the transplants who thinks this is some kind of hick town, Keith.” Her eyes softened. “I like it here. A lot.”

“Where are you from?” He didn’t think it was DC.

And, like that, the sparkle in her eyes was gone. She didn’t meet his glance as she sipped her ice water. “Originally? Philadelphia. After I joined the FBI, I worked in a few different places but mostly DC. You? You said your family ‘settled’ here?”

“Yes, when I was thirteen. My folks were Foreign Service Officers, and my sisters and I lived all over the world. My older sister lives in Ouagadougou, Burkina Faso, with her family—she’s working for the State Department, just like Dad did. My other sister lives here in town and owns the local floral shop. Once Dad could retire from the government job, he did, and now my parents still travel as much as they can afford to. And run a gift-shop-slash-international-interior-decorating business in town and online, with treasures they find all over.”

“Treasures as in archaeological or more like knickknacks?”

“Definitely knickknacks. Which is why I have nothing of the sort in my place.” Crap—would she think he was hitting on her, suggesting she’d be at his place to see what he had?

The waitress came and took their orders. Abi tilted her head after he placed his.

“You ordered it just because I did?”

“No, I happen to like cherry crepes, too.”

Keith studied her and didn’t care if it made her uncomfortable or if he was being too forward. “Abi, you didn’t answer my question. Tell me more about where you’re from. What made you pick the FBI and, more relevant, why arson?”

She remained apparently relaxed as she leaned on her forearms, her hands atop one another. She wasn’t at ease, though. The tightening of her fingers around her wrist, the slight jut of her jawbone wouldn’t have been noticed by anyone unless they were watching for it. And Keith was watching.

“Full disclosure—I was just at your sister’s flower shop. I hadn’t put you two together yet. And I really like her.”

Unlike you. Keith snorted. “Kayla’s got a nice little business going. She might not have the benefits I do working for the town, but she’s raking it in now that her shop is well established.”

“‘Little business’? Would you call this restaurant a ‘little’ business?”

“Chill. I’m not the jerk you’re trying to make me out to be. I’m pro-woman.” He gave her his best smile.

Abi raised a brow and motioned at his face. “Really? You think a Cheshire Cat grin is going to change my mind about you?”

Ow. Sucker punch to the ego, that one.

“Back to you, Abi. Tell me why you do what you do.”

Her eyes—a man could take a long dip in them. Nothing permanent, of course. But a nice, long, leisurely swim. Naked.

She looked away. “I was always interested in law enforcement, so I had two majors in college—criminal justice and studio art. After I graduated, the FBI was a logical choice.” He really wanted to know why she’d picked arson but sensed it wasn’t the time to ask. She’d tell him when she was ready.

“I understood that they don’t take college grads as agents, that you have to work for a couple of years in the real world first.”

She grinned. It warmed her entire face, illuminated her dark eyes and the freckles on her nose. “That’s where the studio art major came into play. I managed a large craft store franchise until I was eligible to apply to be an agent. It took me a few times, believe me.”

“So why have you quit the FBI? Are you going to sell fabric paint on QVC?”

“How do you know so much about crafting and home television shopping?”

It was his turn to feel interrogated. “I was home a lot last year.” He wasn’t about to tell her his struggle with the depression he’d slipped into when he’d been falsely accused of wrongdoing. When all he’d ever worked for had been destroyed along with his professional reputation. “It’s a long story and nothing for today. Tell me about you, Abi. Why did you leave the FBI?”

Her eyes narrowed and her grin vanished. He’d discovered Abi’s line in the sand.

“No one reason. I never really intended for the agency to be a career. It was a chance to gain experience before I...” She stirred her water with the straw, the ice clunking against the plastic glass, and it was as if she were looking into a crystal ball. “I guess I thought I’d end up in local law enforcement or at a fire station like my dad. But I can’t say law enforcement’s what I plan to do for the rest of my life. I needed a change, that’s all.”

“So your dad is a firefighter.”

“Was.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, nothing that awful. He’s still alive and still working. He just...he just switched jobs midcareer.” With that her eyes clouded and she closed her mouth into a grave line.

He’d expected to be annoyed when she stopped being open to him. Instead he couldn’t hide from the sliver of excitement that flipped in his gut. Keith loved a challenge and was finding that, in the short time he’d spent with Abigail Redland, she’d been nothing less than a complex puzzle to figure out. He loved puzzles, complicated problems. Abi fit the bill. So what was with the shaky feeling in his midsection?

Why should he care what the full picture of Abi would reveal?

* * *

Abi enjoyed her brunch with Keith but was very aware of his being on edge, or, rather, at the edge of asking her more questions. Instead she kept things on the case or on her background, minus the Trail Hikers part. It shouldn’t bother her so much to leave out this one part of her job here. She was used to never discussing her work with close friends and colleagues. It was the way of an FBI agent, and it was her way. She’d chosen fire science and arson investigation out of guilt over a teen stunt gone horribly wrong. A decision that had cost her best friend’s life and her father’s firefighting career.

But here in Silver Valley it felt different. As if she were in a place where no one cared about her past. Or maybe it was Keith. She didn’t like admitting it to herself, no more than she enjoyed working with someone when she wasn’t being completely truthful. But she had no choice when it came to her Trail Hiker role.

She smiled at Keith.

“Chief Todd and Rio think we need to work closely together. That I need to bring you along with me as I go through each arson site again.”